


The Sisyphean Reciprocity

by wurmz



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Except... Not Really, M/M, Rating May Change, the violence is silly and magical and maybe not even actual violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-01-23 11:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21319759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wurmz/pseuds/wurmz
Summary: Falling in line with the overarching theme of things, it was not a string of fate that united Ren with Akechi.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 24
Kudos: 55





	1. The Sisyphean Reciprocity

Falling in line with the overarching theme of things, it was not a string of fate that united Ren with Akechi. Symbolism so tame would stand out garishly amid the horrific allegories they had already been subjected to.

And so it came to be that hard and heavy fetters were installed as substitute, dooming them to an endless push-and-pull, an endless give-and-take, a sisyphean reciprocity that always set them sprawled out on their backs side-by-side at the bottom of that endless hill. If this were only in a metaphorical sense, Ren would have at least held some appreciation for the aesthetic value in it all. But seeing as it wasn't, the dead weight which threatened to dislocate his shackled ankle was too painful for him to form any poetic sentiments toward.

A twenty-foot long chain extended between Akechi and himself, acting as the line of symmetry drawn through the rectangular anteroom he knew they must both be held in. That was a solid conclusion to draw, to assume they were together in the same place—but the yawning abyss below his delicate footholds discouraged him from craning his head around to confirm it for himself. He clung to a sheer wall of sapphire, clothed in his bedragged Velvet Room attire, in a position so precarious that it allowed for little action without the immediate threat of death. A thin line of sweat snaked its way down his neck, but in his head sang the blaring horns of victory.

"Confess!" raised Caroline's voice, prickly like barbed wire. She paced the edge of the pit with her crop held behind her back, her boots clapping loudly enough to reverberate all throughout its chthonian depths, a subtle boast of the privilege she had to be set securely on land. "Confess or be penalized!"

A measured response rang out from behind his turned back. "Confess to... what, I might ask?"

Justine's voice came next. "It would be unethical to lead you into a confession if you do not yet know what must be confessed to," she moralized. "All we can hope is that you come into it of your own accord."

"But I'm being detained?" Reasoned Ren's companion, unbothered. "If you've managed to uphold such a strong code of ethics even in a place like this, surely it stands that you can't detain me without giving me adequate reason why?"

"You're not being detained." Her otherworldly eyes passed over the wall adjacent to them both, exactly at the halfway mark to Akechi's end of the area. There, a door was fixed into stone. It was shut, of course, and adorned with a pair of cartoonishly large padlocks... of course. Ren deduced that the key that hung around his neck would unlock one of them. The other—well. It'd be strange to give one to him and neglect his foil. "You may leave any time you like."

A bald-faced lie, being that beyond where he perched the wall was smooth and featureless.

As if this realization had been scripted, Justine continued. "Of course, we would expedite your efforts with the simple requisite that you answer a few questions for us."

Silence occupied the next few moments following her proposition. Finally, Akechi spoke up again, his tone toying with muted notes of curiosity. "What kind of questions?"

"Question one!" Caroline piped up again. "Where did you first meet?"

"...Come again?"

"You two! Where did you meet?"

"Who, the person behind me? I can't even see them. Who is it—" His voice rose as he threw it across the gap. "Who are you?"

"It's me, Goro."

A pause. A scoff. "I knew it in my heart, and yet I hoped it wasn't true." There was a note of distaste in his voice. Ren smiled, because he knew he must be scowling. "This is your doing, isn't it?"

"Oh… Probably. You don't mind a little more trouble, do you?"

"I mind very much so, but that hasn't helped me yet."

_Snap._ Caroline's crop fell against her hand like a gavel. "Stay on topic!"

"I was just getting back to that," Goro soothed the little warden, tucking his irritation at her interjection neatly beneath a pearly veneer of tolerance. Tossing his head back a little, he called over the gap to Ren. "Did you get the question?"

"Yeah, I got it. The weird thing is that I don't know the answer." An interval passed in thoughtful silence. "I definitely know you, though."

Thought begot thought, and Akechi took a moment for himself to think. Then, he spoke, his words soft and airy; "And I, you." Following them, a sigh—self-aware and droll. "Perhaps you could tell by the… _tender fondness_ in my voice."

Ren chuckled warmly, pressing his sweat-streaked forehead against the cool sapphire wall. "Oh, yeah. You're a lot closer to sandpaper than you are to a teddy bear, but somehow I still can't sleep until you're tucked in next to me."

"_Stop it, stop it, stop it!_" Caroline's crop cracked against the unattended desk that lay in the middle of the room. "Do you have no idea how dire the straits you're in, inmates? Your unbridled pompousness is enough to make me sick, and yet, do you even know what you've done? To him?" Her face twisted. She took a single step closer to the edge. "To the world?" Then another. "To _me?_"

"_Caroline,_" Justine warned, hands held primly behind her back.

Despite her, or maybe in spite of her, Caroline continued. "I hope—no, I _ want _ you to know there's no chance of rehabilitation for you after this." It must have been painful, the breakneck way her little head whipped around to shoot daggers in Akechi's direction. "The kindest thing for your ilk is to put you down!"

Even at the angle he was forced to stand at, even with the cobalt rock gouging at the palms of his hands like stigmata, Goro did not miss the slight. "Would you happen to be singling me out for some reason?"

"Goro..." It was Ren's turn to issue the warning.

"Amamiya," Akechi echoed blithely, the invocation of his family name ringing chilly and unfamiliar to the ear.

"You violated the contract," Caroline accused, stepping frightfully close to the edge of the pit. "You twisted your rival's path."

"Oh, and did he not twist mine in return? That must be upsetting for you to hear, Ren-kun. You've worked so hard after all."

Ren nodded affirmatively. "Yeah, no. Any and all corruption was definitely mutual."

"S-Somehow—" and it was the first time Ren had ever heard the warden stutter, "you always knew. Knew... something."

Justine stepped forward, only once. "Restrain yourself, Caroline. We have our plan. We needn't stray from it."

Caroline worked her jaw, biting back another outburst. "How did you meet?" She repeated.

"And why, pray tell, should we allow you to interrogate us this way?" Akechi's veneer was rapidly decaying to reveal the cavities beneath. "It seems to me that you're quite desperate for this knowledge we allegedly hold; let's say that we just refused to cooperate. Could you afford to hurt us? To kill us?" He paused, only briefly, for effect. "I don't think you could."

Caroline's eyes sparked with nuclear fury. "You really want to find out, you mouthy little swine?!"

Ren cleared his throat, his body quaking from the overexertion of holding himself in place on the ledge for so long. "A point, Goro?"

"My point," Goro punctuated with a pop of his lips, "is that I, the swine that I am, have no interest in being funneled into the slaughterhouse. Not by the farmer..." Balancing himself as well as he could, he rotated his body around to challenge Caroline with his gaze. "...and most certainly not by the puerile little barn cats that think they can do his job."

Something in the room snapped. All of the inhabitants could feel it.

In lieu of a reply, Caroline turned on her heel and made a beeline for the other end of the room.

"_Caroline!_"

Justine's scolding fell upon deaf ears. Only in following her trajectory did Ren notice what she sought—A lever, which sat quite conspicuously in the middle of the floor. He sucked air through his teeth and pressed closer to the wall, bracing himself in anticipation of what was to come. "Oh boy..."

Akechi, on the other hand, released his handholds completely, resigning to the fate he'd brought upon himself. "Apologies, Ren-kun. You'll find that I can be just as troublesome as you, sometimes."

Caroline threw the lever with one expert kick, and the ledges beneath Ren and Akechi's feet receded. With their iron chain of fate acting as an anchor, the two of them plummeted into creosotic nothingness. Nothing but Caroline's ragged breath filled the silence in their wake, until a long-suffering suspiration stirred the air behind her. Justine tucked an aberrant lock of platinum hair behind her ear, the only visible indication of inner strife. "Oh, Caroline. Have we learned nothing from this tragedy?"

Black upon black upon black was the boundless abyss. It was impossible to tell where Ren was going. Every passing moment seemed to dampen his senses, ease his convergence with the infinite void; but as his journey to the center of the metaphysical earth sapped him of consciousness, it also drummed up a memory.

_ "Swear." _

_ "In front of a gentleman? Hahaha." _

_ "Yes, cute, but I'll have none of it right now. I need you to give me an explicit vow. Swear that there will be no second thoughts." _

_ "I mean... I won't lie, Goro. It's always healthy to have some doubts." _

_ "We don't have the privilege. Quash them." Akechi set his palms flat against the bar as he slipped from his stool and loomed over him. "Quash them. Never let me see your doubt, never disappoint me. " _

_ "Haha, uh." Ren, never being quite as unrelentingly intense as his fierce companion, lowered his gaze. "Yeah. I don't know if I can promise that." His fingers toyed with his curly hair, searching for a distraction. _

_ Akechi pressed on, unplacated. "Why not?" The question had an edge. "Do you mean to say you'll regret it?" _

_ Ren turned away from him completely. "...Probably." _

_ A weighty reticence settled over Akechi. "I see." Hurt reconfigured his posture, set his shoulders a little straighter and his chin a little higher. "Silly of me to entreat you for the confidence I should already have myself." _

_ Guilt beat Ren in the chest like a flung stone. He surged forward, eager to mollify him. "Confidence... isn't what I'm missing here," he assured him. "I_ _ have the confidence to know that it's what I have to choose..." His hand wandered its way overtop Akechi's, and Akechi, as he often did, slipped out from underneath it and retook it with the urgency of a hawk locking its talons around a field mouse. The complete lack of hesitance in this gesture gave Ren a thrill; when he made to finish his thought, he did so with newfound gravity and an unflinching stare. "...and the confidence that you and I can fix whatever we break." _

_On the edge of his breath, Goro told him, "That's not enough." _

_ Ren stroked the soft leather of his glove fondly. "I know. Wish it were more, but it is what it is." It was only but a moment before Akechi couldn't stand it. He latched his forefinger around Ren's thumb and halted his ministrations just so he could squeeze it as hard as he could, avid to wring his affections out of it and drink his love unleaded. Ren smiled now, glad for him and glad for their coterminous zest. "The last thing I wanna do is fail your expectations, after everything." _

_ From between clenched teeth, his finger hugging ever tighter, Akechi implored him: "Then don't." He swallowed, audibly. "You can't afford to indemnify them." _

_"Don't worry about me 'affording' anything. Thieves run on blank checks," the barista quipped, flashing him a haughty grin that softened Akechi's eyes, but did not remove their sharpness completely. So he amended in a tone removed of any humor, "I'll try not to." With this, his hand drew away and Akechi accepted its loss, ferocity waning. Weariness replaced it, a shadow that lingered over his eyes like a shroud. "It's more than anyone's done for me before, I suppose," he rasped. _

_ Ren thought to leave it there, but only fleetingly. As soon as he'd turned away from him, he turned back around, gesturing for him to draw closer. "I don't like the way you wear uncertainty. Come here." _

_ Nestled in his arms, Akechi released a sigh that had been stagnating in his lungs for far too many years. "I can't say it's terribly fetching on you, either." His thumb smoothed over an imaginary crinkle at the corner of Ren's eye, lips twisting around a playful lie. "If I'm not mistaken, these are crow's feet I see." _

_"At my age?"_

_"Mhm."_

_"Well... There's only one 'Crow' I know. You leave those there?" _

_ "I'd do no such thing." _

_ "Oh-ho, no! Never." _

_ Then, two voices in unison: "Mmm... mwah!" said one, and "Mmmwah!" said the other, and they laughed harmoniously, a duet of love. _

And then he woke.

"Ren Amamiya."

Ren's body jolted upright of its own accord. His glasses were parked on the bridge of his nose before he had the time to open his eyes.

"On your feet." Familiar words, but they didn't come from the mouth of any Velvet Room hostess—they came from an officer, and that officer was loitering in the doorframe of his bedroom. With one beat, then two, Ren's socked feet were planted on the ground. Wordlessly, and with trained precision, he pulled his shoes out from beneath the bed by their collars and worked on loosening the laces.

The officer checked his watch. "Have you collected any personal effects you want to bring with you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where are they?"

"On my back, sir."

From the doorway, he bobbed his head to inspect Ren's shoulders. "I don't see them."

"By that, I mean that I have nothing to take but the clothes I'm wearing." Ren boosted his glasses up with two fingers. "...sir."

"Oh. Right. Okay, then." The man had a sense of humor as dry and flavorless as baked clay, but Ren wasn't surprised. Just disappointed. "Let's get you out the door before morning roll call."

For two years, Ren had been in juvenile detention. For two years after that, he'd been here, at the halfway house, pinned under the intense scrutiny of its staff, which was comprised almost entirely of crotchety ex-cops. Now he was twenty, and he was either free or suffering the sentence to live his own life amid the throng. The terror of uncertainty had arrested him many a night during his probation, but now, as he entertained his eyes with the flitting light that filtered through the superintendent's office window, he felt more real, more raw than he did before, as if his teenage years had been a dream upon waking.

"And where are you staying?" The bureaucrat inquired, leafing through his documents.

Ren's gaze flitted all around the room, never alighting on one object for too long, never entirely present. "With a family friend in Yongen-Jaya," he replied.

Scribble, scribble. Flip. Next page. "Do you have a job lined up for you?"

Ren nodded. "Yeah, at the same place. It's a café."

"What'll you be doing there?"

To this, he hemmed and hawed and shrugged his shoulders. "I'll probably be a barista."

"Hm." The desk jockey was quite apparently unimpressed. "Not much money in that, but probably as good as you'll get with your record."

"Mhm," Ren agreed. He couldn't remember the last time he held a conversation out of anything other than obligation.

"Give him the pat-down," the superintendent ordered, and the officer stepped forward to kick his ankles apart. Up one leg and down the other, he probed Ren's sheep suit for a zipper, and Ren allowed it with the disinterest characteristic of a master of disguise. Finding no fangs in need of a filing, the officer straightened with a nod.

The superintendent stood the papers up and clacked them against his desk. "Well, Ren Amamiya," he spoke, drawing the addressee's attention away from the light of the sun. "I'm sure the circus animals will miss their ringleader, but I will not."

After everything he'd been through, to be guided out of the building without any complications felt so unceremonious. Ren counted every dent he'd inflicted on the drywall as he was escorted down the hall leading to the bolted metal doors that served as the halfway house's entrance. Outside them, Sojiro was waiting. Once he fought the beaming sun out of his eyes, Ren could see him standing there, one hand resting on the hood of his car and impatience adding an edge to his posture.

"Everything taken care of?" He inquired, sizing Ren up as he slinked out from behind the officer who chaperoned him and into plain view. The officer nodded in response.

"Alright, then. I'll take him off your hands." Sojiro jerked his chin beckoningly. "C'mon, kid."

His car was an older model, and exactly what you'd expect of a man of Sojiro's mien. Not just old, but _vintage_, clean, well-cared for, something sure to strike any mature heterosexual with a pang of nostalgia. Its dashboard was gleaming, waxed to blinding perfection. Ren felt the urge to reach out, to run his fingertips across its glossy enamel, and being that he was never one to quell his impulses, it was only when the owner of the car knocked his hands away to spare it from smudging that he realized he'd succumbed to it. They pulled out onto the main road toward the freeway, and it wasn't long after that that the lecture began.

"Let me make this clear," was what the older man started with, strong and severe. "You can help out around the shop however you want, but it's not covering your rent. I'm not asking for much, but I want it the third of the month, every month, no excuses. Do you hear me?"

"Mhm."

"Don't you get smarmy with me. Yes or no?"

"Yes."

"Good. Didn't they teach you how to talk to your superiors at that place?" Sojiro shook his head disapprovingly. "What a waste of my tax dollars."

Ren propped up his chin with his fist. "Not the first time I've heard that."

With narrowed eyes, Sojiro reluctantly let the comment slide. "...I'll give you three weeks to find a job. It's not gonna be easy for you. Have you ever had one before?"

"I worked in a noodle shop while I was at the house."

Sojiro grunted. "Did they like you there?"

"Eh." Ren shrugged, bouncing his head side-to-side. "The owner did. I'd say we were friends."

Sojiro nodded, thoughtfully. "At least that's somethin' you've got going for you. Try to remember their number. You can use them as a reference."

"Oh. I, uh. Hadn't thought about that." A little embarrassed to be grateful, he settled deeper into his seat, striving to look nonchalant—but something on his seat was prodding him in the back, and wiggleworming was never nonchalant. "I'll... I'll try that. Thanks.

Sojiro rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, his eyes trained on the road. "Just get yourself in the workforce. You've spent plenty of time sponging off the rest of us. You've got an obligation to contribute something to society now."

Ren made another noncommittal sound in his throat, adjusting his posture with a discomforted grimace. What the hell was he sitting on?

"...What about your parents?" Sojiro suggested, hesitance creeping into his voice. "Want me to pass a message along to them?"

Ren hummed a note in the negative. "Not really. We haven't talked in years." He squirmed again, pawing for the errant object. "Thanks, though."

"Ah... Alright." There was a touch of disappointment there, which Ren suspected he'd meant to suppress. "I didn't think they were those kind of people. I shouldn't have mentioned it."

Finally, Ren's fingers made contact. At its touch, a metallic chill bit straight through his skin and permeated his veins, slowing his heart in his chest to a dull percussion. Steadily, with discipline of someone well-practiced in concealing his guilt, his hand retracted and folded itself neatly in his lap. When he found the peace of mind to speak, his tongue felt as swollen as a balloon against his palate. "I don't mind."

There was a gun tucked into the back of his jeans.

Immediately, the only thought that came to his mind was, _"If only this were the first time."_

"Well..." Sojiro coughed, slouching in his seat as he grimaced at the bumper-to-bumper traffic just beyond his windshield. "Normally this would be a twenty-minute drive."

Ren swallowed thickly. At the slightest hint of tension in the air, Sojiro made an instinctive move for the stereo. "How do you feel about jazz?"

"Great," Ren peeped, leg bouncing insistently.

Out of the frying pan, into the fire. Trouble came for him in an endless parabolic wave.

Evidently, none of the DJs on the radio were fans of smooth jazz. The frantic squeal of improvised saxophone solos did nothing to calm his nerves for those forty minutes he spent boxed in with his new paternal figure and the remanifestation of his greatest fears.


	2. Chapter 2

A glock. A glock, pearl white and carmine red with a lacquer surface finish that gave it a gaudy plasticky shine. At first, he thought it was a prop. Pranks weren't all too uncommon for him, after all. The wayward sons at the halfway house knew him as one to take mischief with good humor even if the perpetrator was of ill-intent, something which made him a bigger target to some and a bore to others. But as he dexterously disassembled it, inspecting its empty chamber, testing the safety, weighing it in his hands, he could only conclude that it was genuine. How ironic it was that he knew the difference now.

It was late into the evening, an hour at which Sojiro had long since vacated the building and thereby had no chance of happening upon Ren with illegal goods. Prior to his inspection, Ren appropriated the desk lamp and screwed the only working bulb he found into it, which was, as it turns out, a voltage well above the lamp's upper limit. It blazed over his shoulder with a hazardous intensity as he sat hunched over in its light, frazzled and sweltering and stumped, mopping the perspiration from his brow with his sleeve. Over and over he turned the weapon in his hands, but frowning at it in befuddlement did nothing to provoke an epiphany. 

If the other shoe was going to drop, it seemed like it would have already. Be it that someone knew the gun was in his possession, the two most opportune moments for them to bust him would have either been before he came here or bright and early tomorrow morning. Since he wasn't technically a renter yet, Sojiro could probably grant the cops permission for a search and seizure, and, extrapolating from first impressions, he would.

"Shit..."

What could he do, then? Bed check procedure was downright meticulous these days. They would slip their hands into any slit he made in the mattress. They would press down on every floorboard for that telltale squeak of a hollow space. Ren's eyes locked onto the potted plant in the corner, but—no. There was really no plant to speak of, only a flimsy yellow stalk in desiccated soil. Overturning its petrified upper crust would be audaciously stupid of him. If he had something like an old TV, a CRT with a roomy hardware compartment... Maybe he'd still pick one of those up, assuming his parole extended beyond another day or two.

He dragged his thumb contemplatively over the ostentatious monogrammed letter printed on the pistol's grip. "A." Only one letter, but enough scrawling, swirling strokes embellishing it that one might mistake it for an especially abstract piece of shodo. God, it was tacky. What could it stand for? Definitely not Amamiya. Akudoi? A little too on the nose. Aizukotetsu-kai? That would explain the yakuza aesthetic. Akira? Hey, it's a common name.

Shaking off these unindustrious thoughts, Ren retrieved his phone and summoned the search bar. He wasn't the biggest fan of Big Bang Burger, at least not since Kunikazu Okumura vanished and the company sold off the franchise to a new owner that changed all their recipes for the worse; but as was true of even the original, convenience wins out over quality, and the chain was still on every corner. Looking up one of its locations on a map—or even several of its locations, all throughout the city—was a perfectly remissible action. Just for that additional boost of deniability, though, he took a detour at their website and browsed idly through their career paths long enough for it to look like he had real interest in it.

Then began the real search.

With every address, he scrolled down the streets surrounding it, analyzing the neighboring buildings for a hint of apathy and danger. The block needed to be seedy, but not seedy enough for anyone to question his true intentions. A decently popular place with some nightlife, a masquerade ball for urbanites of every flesh and fold. In a place like that, illicit items would be hard to find and even harder to pin to one person.

A plan formed in his mind. Tomorrow, he would get up early. 7 AM, hopefully before any nightstick-swinging authoritarians came around looking for him. He would tell Sojiro he was going job hunting. "If you think you'll impress me if you pretend to be proactive, you're wrong," he'd say, but he'd allow it. The gun would have to stay with him all day. There was no other choice. At some point in the afternoon, he would order his lunch from Big Bang Burger, to go. He would walk to a nearby alleyway, eat, deposit the gun into the paper bag, and toss it in the dumpster. That should be all she wrote.

A nasally sigh escaped him as he reached to flick off the lamp, drawing back sharply on his first attempt with an indignant shout when the heated metal stung his skin, then succeeding on his second. One after the other, he stretched out his legs, assuming a position reminiscent of a hunchbacked ragdoll. The gun lay placidly in his lap, looking quite innocent aside from the evil energy radiating off of it in waves. Or maybe that was still the lamp.

It didn't surprise him that his first day hadn't been easy. On the contrary, he would say it was perfectly in character for him. A day ago he might've entertained fantasies about sleeping the whole night through in a bed safely outside the reach of the long arm of the law, but now, in glancing over his shoulder at the humble bedspread awaiting his enervated carcass, he didn't see the appeal. There was a twinge of loneliness at the prospect, a twinge of dissatisfaction.

Locating a nearby dust cloth, he languorously rubbed away at the gun's sleek surface, clearing it of fingerprints. After that was finished, he swathed it in the cloth like a newborn, concealing its polymer carapace from view. Leery as he was of the bed's seductive draw, so much like a flytrap proffering its compelling maw, he retired to it anyway. He tucked the parcel into the front of his pants so he could lay comfortably on his back and melted against the mattress, arm thrown across his face. Like peeking through palm fronds, he watched the lamp-post outside his window from between his squinted eyelashes, the warm, orange light refracting off of them in glorious little beams that shuddered and disappeared with each shutterlike blink.

And then it was morning. His peripheral hearing detected the distant murmur of conversation from downstairs. The efficacy of this was leagues above any alarm clock.

Ren's body bolted upright of its own accord. His glasses were parked on the bridge of his nose before he had his eyes open. One beat, two beats, and his socked feet were planted on the ground. Wordlessly, he pulled his shoes out from beneath the bed and worked on loosening the laces. 

He didn't need to brush his hair; he didn't need to wash his face. He'd buy toothpaste from the convenience store and brush his teeth in the public bathroom. None of that mattered. He had to leave. He had to leave now.

He shifted the gun around to the back of his pants and pulled his shirt down as far as it would go. Half-asleep and stumbling like a newborn foal, he crash-coursed his way over to the stairs, bracing his hands against the walls as he went. The well-aged wood squealed in alarm underneath the heavy rubber soles that tap-danced down them, undoubtedly signaling his presence to anyone in the building, and oh--Sure enough, the hushed discussion stopped, and, six rickety steps away from bursting into view, Ren tried to think of what he would do if he entered the room and saw the entire police force waiting for him. Unfortunately for him, there wasn't enough time to conjure a solution out of that hypothetical, so all he was left with was the insidious mental image of thirty waspishly angry officers flocking around him when he broke out into the café, heaving.

There were only two people in the room: Sojiro and a customer, a stranger seated primly at the bar. The former was eyeing him, perplexed by his sudden arrival.

Steadying his breath, Ren nodded. "'Morning," he greeted him curtly, the words sticky and thick with grogginess as if spoken through a mouthful of oatmeal. The patron at the bar swiveled around, incorrectly believing that the pleasantries had also been extended to him. What Ren immediately noticed were his eyes: Too sharp, too clear, too calculating. To discourage his scrutiny, he skimmed his gaze right over him and walked by his seat without extending him an ounce of recognition.

But still he spoke. "Ah. You must be Sakura-san's newest project. I've been eager to meet you. What's your name?"

Ren halted, shuffling his feet. "It's, uh." He scratched his neck as he peeked over his shoulder, reluctant to turn around. "Ren Amamiya." A spark of intrigue shone on his listener's face. "Nice to meet you."

Silence opted to use this time frame as an opportunity to yawn and stretch. "Aren't you going to ask for mine?" the interloper asked, expectant.

Stifling a sigh was an immense effort. "Yeah. Sure," Ren grunted out. You would think that would be enough to prompt an introduction, but none came. Social convention now behooved the beleaguered antisocial to tether his wandering gaze and fully engage in the conversation, and his irritation was plain to see. "...What's your name?"

Satisfied, his conversational partner deigned to recite his lines. "Goro Akechi," he announced. They were standing apart from each other at an awkward distance, but even so, he offered his hand to Ren. The way this was done was not as you would with a handshake—that is, with your palm turned to the side—but instead presented it backside-up as a monarch would offer a courtesan their rings to kiss. It was such an abnormal gesture that it threw Ren for a loop. Jolting, he found himself stepping forward to accept it before common sense had the chance to veto the action. His fingers curled clumsily around the gloved tips of Akechi's own and lingered there, not quite sure what to do with them. A cold sweat woke on his neck as the guy—Akechi—tittered with amusement at his impulsive reciprocation. This situation was completely unexpected and entirely nonsensical.

Nonetheless, Akechi smiled. "Charmed."

Ren looked at him closer now, beyond his imposing oculars and at the man they belonged to. He was groomed in every way imaginable, from his hair to his clothes to the minutiae of his mannerisms. His skin was clear and glossy with a layer of what must be BB cream, and the cologne he wore was a tastefully subtle scent that could only be detected at close proximity, a sylphlike phantasm of masculine spice. It was while he was indulging in these sensual disarmers that he spotted the badge pinned to his khaki trench coat. Upon sighting it, Ren's expression soured like overripe fruit. "A cop, huh." His hand dropped away distastefully. "That explains it."

Sojiro snapped his fingers at him. "Hey. Watch your tone. It's one thing to talk to me that way, but if I catch you wise-cracking the customers I'll throw you right out onto your ass."

"No, no. It's fine, Sakura-san, really," the detective insisted, ever keener to pry open Ren's plastron using only his piercing gaze as his forceps. "He's entitled to his opinions, and—you may be surprised to hear this from me, but I believe they're entirely justified. His standpoint is likely a direct result of personal experience." Even though he was staring straight at Ren, he spoke in the speculative as if he weren't actually present; as if instead of existing among company in the present moment, Akechi was sitting by himself hours into the future, composing an analysis of the current events for an academic journal. "I've seen first hand the vicious corruption that plagues our insitutions, and that's exactly why I dedicate myself and my abilities to extirpating it from the system. I look forward to broadening his views, as I'm certain he'll be broadening mine."

Unamused, Ren grimaced. "So are you a cop or aren't you?"

To this, a smile, almost wistful. "Not anymore," he said, softly. Then, blinking, he straightened in his seat. "Ah. I'm sorry. You were on your way out the door, weren't you?" 

Still uncertain on how to feel, Ren scuffed his feet. "Yeah, I was."

"Oh yeah?" Sojiro crossed his arms. "And where do you think you're going?"

"J—" That's it. He failed. All it took was one malformed phoneme to lay waste to his entire plot. The corner of Akechi's mouth jerked with a touch of sympathy as if to say he'd been there before. Ren didn't know why he was still looking at him, so he promptly looked elsewhere. Despite the numb resignation pooling in his chest, he put forth the effort to finish. "Job hunting."

Bemusement wrinkled Sojiro's brow at his appalling performance. "You sure about that?" Ren made no effort to reply. The café owner shook his head. "You're not going anywhere. Si'down."

"Okay," he acquiesced, pulling out the chair nearest to him at the bar and sliding glumly into it.

"How old did you say he was, Sakura-san?" The question forced Ren to close his eyes to prevent himself from glaring.

"He's twenty." Feeling the lack of a certain je ne sais quoi, he tacked on the sarcastic addendum, "In body, not in mind."

Titter, titter, titter! Ren slumped against the bar, ready to collapse into himself like a dwarf star. Seeing his despair, Akechi leaned over to him conspiratorially. "I'm twenty-one," he supplied in a whisper, apparently thinking that little tidbit of information would somehow bring them closer. He then cleared his throat and raised his voice for Sojiro's benefit. "I've been coming here for three years now. It was recommended to me by a colleague, and ever since I've been compelled to call it my second home." His bright, amiable expression dulled momentarily. "Or perhaps my first."

Ren eyed him with the vague beginnings of interest. "I almost came here three years ago," he revealed, noting how this minuscule pinch of reciprocation he offered him had him perking up like a parched seedling seeing its first April shower.

"Ah," Akechi remarked ruefully. "I wish you had. I would have loved to have a companion my own age back then." He tilted his head. "But I suppose fate had other plans, didn't it?"

Clandestinely, Ren pulled his phone from pocket to check the clock. Wow. It had only been five minutes since they met, and he was already insinuating friendship. "Fate or something else," he suggested offhandedly.

"Yes," Akechi murmured in reply, unexpectedly ponderous. "Or something else entirely."

This guy was really trying his damnedest to work him. What was worse was that he didn't seem to care that Ren knew what he was trying to do, maybe even liked that he did. Rotating his entire body around to face him, the ex-convict began to tap his fingers against the bar in rhythm that suggested some brass, boldly and unmistakably sizing him up. Every so often as he did so, he would catch a flash of color in his sclera, the russet blur of Akechi's irises darting over to check if he was still watching. Each time he saw that he was, his honeyed smile would shapeshift into something decidedly sly.

Sojiro clapped his hands together, acutely aware of the vibe between them. "So, uh..." He rubbed them together as if physically spinning the next thread of conversation. "You like coffee?"

No response.

"Amamiya."

Cooly, Ren turned to him, shrugging off his budding passion in favor of something a little more nonchalant. "It's alright, I guess."

"Perhaps that's true of everywhere else, but here it's exquisite."

A hearty chuckle came from deep within Sojiro's chest. "You heard the man." A warm and open smile decorated his face, aimed exclusively at his loyal regular. "There's no doubting his opinion. He's an epicurean."

Akechi waved him off. "Oh, hardly. I simply take profane delight in dissecting the public opinion."

"Listen." The boss stabbed an accusatory finger in his direction, only in jest but frighteningly convincing. "If I'm giving you a compliment that also compliments my menu, it's a compliment you'd better take."

Akechi raised his hands in self-defense, shoulders shaking with laughter. "My apologies. I'll admit I have an unusually discerning palate..."

Shortly thereafter, Ren was introduced to a cup of something black and frothy.

"I'll take mine to go if you don't mind." Their guest rose to his feet, claiming the briefcase that sat beside him. "I was able to spare some time to welcome the new lodger, but sadly no more than that."

"Of course. Give me a minute." With a nod, Sojiro turned his back.

In that time, Akechi wandered to Ren's side. The cup was in his hands now, and he was taking his time savoring the warmth and aroma of the drink before he took his first taste. Placing a hand on his back, the detective leaned in to sample it with him. "That smells like bourbon to me," he deduced after a drawn-out inhale. "An excellent choice to start you off with."

"Bourbon?" By Japan's reckoning, he was old enough to imbibe, but by his own, he would say he wasn't quite sad enough to do it at seven-thirty in the morning on a Wednesday.

"The name of the beans," Akechi provided, "derived from the island where they were originally cultivated. Sakura-san keeps a couple of varieties on hand, but one in particular stands out above the rest in terms of quality." His index finger drummed against Ren's back. "You see, the plant was eventually introduced to Latin America, but they quickly found that the flavor of the crop grown in Bourbon was irreplicable." The fingers drifted downward, and a frisson dashed up Ren's spine like a cat up a tree. He looked up and saw patient intent in the other man's eyes. "That was because of the unique volcanic properties in Bourbon's soil." Lower, lower. Ren's breath quickened when he realized where he was headed. "Only in absorbing the eccentricities of their environment can the fruit take on what we consider to be the 'true' bourbon flavor." Lower, lower still, until he was delicately exploring the grip of the pistol pressed against his lower back. Every muscle in Ren's body coiled into a death curl. 

Meanwhile, from behind the bar, Sojiro grunted his approval at Akechi's spiel. "So you remembered what I taught you." 

Akechi hummed affirmatively to him and gave a short and slight nod to Ren, prompting him for confirmation of a mutual understanding. 

Blanched from head to toe, Ren nodded back. "Huh," he remarked, the crack in his voice rough and craggy to his own ears, like a fissure in stone. "I guess I'm in for a treat."

"You are." Akechi removed his hand and backed away. "Tell me your thoughts next time we meet."

It was then that Sojiro returned, passing a steaming piece of styrofoam drinkware over the counter. "Here you go. Try not to finish it all on the way there."

Graciously, Akechi accepted it. "Ever a challenge not to, Boss. Thank you." 

With that, he bowed politely and started for the door. Ren was on his feet at once. The blood roared in his ears like waves churning together in a dark and briny sea. "Are you walking to the train?" he called after him.

Akechi paused, turning his head just enough to signal that he was listening. "I am."

"I could walk you there." It was a question disguised as a suggestion. Why not talk about this now?

But Akechi shook his head. "No need. In the time it took you to do that, your coffee would get cold."

"O-Oh, uh." The cup was sitting abandoned on the counter, waiting patiently for him to return to it. Such a minor detail amid such a tumultuous situation. Forgetting it was an embarrassing betrayal of his nerves. "You're right." As composedly as possible, he eased himself back into his chair. "Sorry."

Now Akechi turned to him fully, smiling everywhere but his eyes. "Don't apologize. Here." Lying his briefcase down on the counter, he snapped it open. Ren stole a glimpse of its orderly contents. A journal along with a sundry array of writing utensils were strapped tightly against the walls of the top compartment, while the bottom half was occupied almost entirely by a thick stack of portfolios, save for the pristine and glossy softcover copy of the "Adventure of the Final Problem" that lay on top. He retrieved a pen and business card from its pocket, striking out one line and scribbling a new set of numbers above it. Once he was finished, he offered it to Ren with two hands. "For your enthusiasm." Remembering his manners, Ren accepted it the same way. "The number I wrote down is my private cell phone. I crossed it out so you don't get it confused, but my work line is there too. I'm sure you could probably still read it if for some reason you needed it."

He nodded shallowly. A lopsided amount of time was spent absorbing the visual details of the stationery before he spoke. Finally, lifting the card a little to nonverbally indicate it as the subject, he said, "It's pretty."

Something genuine touched Akechi's features. Amusement, probably. Slowly and disbelievingly, he shook his head at him. "...Thank you."

Before he left, he stole one final appraising look at Ren from the threshold.

As soon as the bell finished rattling following his departure, Sojiro raised his brows as high as they could go. "Well," he snorted, looking like a moviegoer fresh out of the theater. "Don't you two make a pair?"

A tremor plagued Ren's hands as he struggled to guide his newly recovered drink to his lips. "Mm."

"Now, about that job hunt..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very excited for the next chapter. We'll slowly be introducing the other characters... hoping that'll be interesting.
> 
> A few definitions, because I needed a bunch of Japanese A words and I don't expect anybody and especially not me to know them off hand:
> 
> "Shodo" is fanciful Japanese calligraphy. "Akudoi" means gaudy. "Aizukotestu-kai" is a yakuza clan, apparently. 
> 
> Also, "The Adventure of the Final Problem" is a tale from Sherlock Holmes.


	3. Chapter 3

"How's that fit you?"

Straps, buttons, studs. Ren should've gone somewhere else to shop. He didn't remember fashion being so dysfunctional. 

"Fine," he answered from behind the dressing room curtain, prickly. He didn't remember there being so many sales hounds, either. Immediately upon entering this trendy little fashion store, he began to regret his performative display of leaving all his other clothes behind at the halfway house. Now, faced with the impossible task of hiking up a pair of form-fitting jeans at the same time he hid the gun behind his back, he was miles beyond "starting to."

Speaking of his illicit little encumbrance, its fate was now uncertain. The option to ditch it was still there, but in the aftermath of his passive-aggressive confrontation with the detective, the anxiety of letting it leave his side far outweighed the anxiety of walking the crowded streets of Tokyo in broad daylight with it kissing his hip.

So why did Akechi know, he wondered? Was the gun his plant? If so, why would a prestigious detective do what any grunt in blue could satisfy? Ren didn't see any reason for it if he didn't have a personal vendetta against him, and he was sure he'd never met the guy before. Yeah, he'd know if he had; Akechi's very essence begged, beseeched, behooved you for remembrance. The more he thought about it, there was no way he could have done it. Nobody in their right mind would plant something with their own initial monogrammed onto it. Although... The possibility had already been stricken from his internal investigation, but Ren supposed one could still argue that it stood for Amamiya. Hm.

"Need any other sizes? Colors, prints?"

"Nah. This is the plainest thing you've got, so..." He smoothed his hands over the factory-made decorative rips that cluttered his pants. "I'm good. Do I have to take this off for you to ring it up?"

"Umm... Yeah—? Yes. I think you do, sir."

Eyes squinched shut and knees bent like a geriatric patient slipping a spinal disc, he took this moment to reflect on the trials he'd been through thus far. Then, with the unquellable strength of someone well-loved by Eris, he straightened, reperforming the task he'd just completed in reverse.

At least that was one outfit down. He'd have something to wear for the job inquiry Sojiro had scheduled for him this afternoon. With his original plan obliterated, he'd had the chance to brush his teeth and splash himself with some water before he left that morning. He still hadn't bathed since the night before last, but other than that, personal hygiene was no longer an issue.

As he exited the store, purchases in hand, he reflexively unlocked his phone and pulled down the notification drawer. Only minutes after Akechi left that morning, Ren plugged him into his contacts and shot him a simple text:

_ Hey _

Radio silence to that. No acknowledgment whatsoever. After an hour, he made a second attempt:

_ What's up _

Another hour passed without correspondence, followed by another, carrying through until this particular moment when, to Ren's surprise, a reply awaited his notice. He ducked underneath the nearest overhang to loiter, a few lengths away from a public photo shoot for the next store over. At 11:02 am—ten minutes ago—his correspondent wrote:

_ Patience is a virtue, and to be virtuous is to live a troubleless life. :) _

_ I'm on my lunch break. I'm currently indulging in a gourmet tomato sandwich on cracked wheat bread. How would I describe it? Minimalistic and proletarian... yet vastly superior to most of what is recommended to me in both technique and depth of flavor. _

Attached was a picture of his meal, sat atop a thick and glossy artisan plate with a garnish and pickle spear.

_ Perhaps it's just that I'm attracted to complexities that conceal themselves in a conservative skin. Speaking of which, how are you? _

Ren skillfully tapped out a response.

_ Looks tasty. I'm ok, thanks. Anything else? _

Like, maybe an explanation or two? Apparently not, because Akechi replied shortly thereafter with:

_ Oh, no. I don't take dessert with lunch. But I'm glad to hear that you're well. :) _

Smartass. Ren could've said so, but another message came before he could decide upon it.

_ Let's speak in greater detail later. I have much to share that should be said aloud. _

To that, Ren simply said:

_ Yeah whatever. Sounds good lol _

Well, that was a bust. He should've expected some yanking around. He did expect it, really, but Akechi had it right when he called him out for his impatience—Waiting was agonizing when the situation wasn't in his favor, and he tried to avoid it whenever possible. It was worth it to him to give the bear a poke and see what it'd do. "Nothing" was probably the best outcome, so he couldn't be too upset... but he reserved the right to be inconsolably disquieted by the result.

As a nervous habit, he twiddled his hair between his fingertips and surveyed his surroundings. Being the most conspicuous element of his environs, the photoshoot caught his eye almost immediately. Two girls were modeling on the set, both of them knock-kneed and tall, one blonde and one brunette. They fell over each other like bosom buddies, inventing new ways to lock arms with every shutter of the camera. Ren saw nothing wrong with this, but the director seemed displeased. Gesturing sharply toward the models, he whispered something in his photographer's ear; but when the photographer relayed this information, the dagger-like syllables were filed down into something simpering and polite. "Actually, Takamaki-san? I think you're supposed to be holding the Issey Miyake bag."

Through a clenched smile, the dark-haired girl that stood next to her hissed, "I told you."

"Sorry," the blonde apologized under her breath, shaking the nerves out of her hands. Trading bags with her partner, she reconfigured herself into another winning pose, her eyes glued to the camera like a gazelle monitoring lions in the bush. "Sorry."

Ren moved on.

* * *

After hurriedly changing his clothes back at Leblanc, he set out again to his appointment at the Ogikubo ramen shop. It was small, smaller than the last place he'd worked at, a design well-suited to the urban environment with the single, humble, elongated room that it consisted of. When he entered, there was a comfortable number of patrons already seated with their dishes. Behind the bar, the server looked up to acknowledge him. "Welcome to Ogikubo," he addressed him, then promptly returned to his duties. 

Ren pulled aside the chair closest to the door and slipped into it, neighboring a guy about his age with short-cropped blond hair. "Hey," he began, recapturing the employee's attention. "I'm here for the interview." In return for his curtness, he received an inquisitive stare. Maybe it wasn't quite accurate to call it an interview since this line of work rarely called for such a formality. "Inquiry?" he reiterated, but that seemed like a term too vague. Finally, he decided, "I'm here to talk about a job." Unfortunately, judging by the worker's expression, further clarification was necessary. "Uh," he pronounced, beating his index fingers against the counter like drumsticks. "Sojiro Sakura scheduled something for me, I think." Lack of confidence be damned, those must have the magic words because, at once, the server set down the glass cup he'd been holding with a heavy thunk and wandered through a door at the back of the room, calling someone's name. 

Ren twiddled his thumbs. Well. Hopefully the guy was looking into it, but for all he knew he could be baking a cake back there. With a heavy sigh, he reclined in his seat, spreading his legs wide and careless like a cowboy in his saddle. As he did, his knee collided with a previously unseen object that had been leaning against the counter, and pretty soon whatever it was was clattering to the ground with a fantastic clamor.

"Ohp," Ren chirped, wobbling back and forth in his chair in search of the stray article. Next to him, the blond swore, stiffly realigning himself in his chair to bend down and retrieve his possession—and it was no wonder his movements were so awkward; Ren had knocked over his crutch.

"Shit. Let me get that for you, man," Ren offered, squeezing into the narrow space beside them to join him in the pursuit. 

The blond grunted gruffly. "I got it."

Ren's hand hovered in abeyance, unconvinced. "You sure?"

The stranger repeated himself, harder than before: "I got it." 

His tone was enough to shoo Ren back into his seat without further protest. "Sorry. I ought to watch myself a little closer next time."

"Whatever, man. Not the first time it's happened," the diner dismissed him. His eyes were locked in a shifty glare that touched every corner of the room aside from the seat occupied by the transgressor of this faux pas they found themselves in, and in reading his expression, Ren realized he must be embarrassed. Respectfully, he turned away, ensuring he would make no further spectacle of him.

A short time later, the employee returned with an older man by his side. The junior broke off to attend to a newcomer at the bar, but the senior strayed down the line searchingly until Ren beckoned for him. When he arrived, he first addressed the patron at his side with a nod. "Afternoon, Sakamoto-san," he greeted. "How're the noodles today?"

"S'Alright," Sakamoto-san grunted.

"Good. Always good to see you come around." Without acknowledging him directly, he tossed a thumb Ren's way. "This guy here could be joining the staff," he informed the blond. "What do you think of him?"

Oh shit. You're kidding. His blood ran cold as the two of them shyly inclined their bodies toward each other and ogled their neighbor from the corners of their eyes. Sakamoto-san did not give the impression of someone forgiving with his mug locked firmly in an unenthused frown, but mercifully, he sniffed, bumping his nose with his knuckle as he turned away and declared, "S'Alright."

"Haha! Well, if he thinks so, I guess you're on, frumpy!" Like magic, Ren became worthy of not only this rough-skinned working man's attention, but also a playfully insulting new moniker. His head spun with the whiplash from this sudden turnaround. "I don't have the patience for all the run-around. Let me see your hands." Mutely, Ren offered them for his judgment. With digits as solid and coarse as bricks, he snatched them up and manhandled them, subjecting them to rigorous analysis that Ren couldn't even begin to fathom the methodology behind. "Not bad, not bad," the elder declared. "Most hands your age are as smooth and soft as virgins in the convent, but you obviously know what a good day's work looks like." Drawing away, he flicked his chin toward the door he'd originally entered from. "Come around back, I'll show you where to start."

With that, the ramen sage turned to make for a brisk exit, sending Ren scrambling to follow him. As he rounded the bar and jogged past, the blond spoke up. "Hey," he interjected, stalling Ren as he went by. His mouth busied itself with working a particularly crunchy vegetable into a fine paste, evoking the image of a crotchety old man chewing tobacco on his porch. "Good luck," he wished him.

Ren's breath left him like a ghost, body crumpling inward like a wilting flower at this small display of sincere sympathy. "Thank you," he told him, and he meant it with every inch of his heart.

* * *

Five hours later, seven o'clock and change, he walked through the threshold of Leblanc.

"Ah, you're back," Sojiro observed disinterestedly, glancing over his shoulder as he restocked the beans. "Well? Did he decide you weren't worth it?"

"Spent my day hauling crates, so you'd think that'd make me worth something. But who knows, you know?"

"Yeah, I bet you're feeling all that heavy lifting now, huh? It'll be even worse tomorrow. That's what we adults call manual labor. Someone your age should know that by now." 

Ren closed his eyes to avoid rolling them. "Uh huh." He tapped his thumb against the side of his phone impatiently. He was boring holes into the screen, scrolling up and down his very limited chat history with Akechi, pouring all of his soul into willing a new message to appear.

"I noticed that you skipped out on the bathhouse last night," Sojiro reminded him. "Now that you're working in food service, you've gotta keep yourself clean. Neither me or the guys at Ogikubo want you stinking up the place."

Halfway through a petulant grunt and immediately after giving in and closing the chat, the text he was waiting for arrived.

Would now be an opportune moment for a call?

Ren straightened up, rolling his shoulders. "Yeah. Think I'll head over now actually," he declared, typing as he spoke.

_ Give me a minute _

"I haven't eaten yet, so I might go out afterward if that's okay."

"There's some leftover curry in the fridge if you wanted to eat that instead."

_ Awaiting your signal. :) _

"Uhh… Well." Ren screwed up his lips. "I kind of had my heart set on this one place around here…"

"Oh really?" The elder's tone suggested some doubt. "I know this place pretty well, you know. Where did you think you were gonna go?"

"It's called, uh." He sputtered to a stop. "Shit. What was it." Looking off into the middle distance, he struggled to recall one of the better places he'd looked at last night during his search for the perfect Big Bang Burger. "Punchy's, I think."

"Oh, I know that place. Over down by Inokashira Park right?"

"Yeah."

"Hm. That's not such a bad spot. But you only want to go there for the bar, don't you?"

"Can't lie. I could really use a drink."

"Well, you are of age… I can't stop you. But I've got two rules for you: If you get hammered or pick up a girl—" Sojiro slowed to a stop, gears turning in his head as he appeared to recall something. "Or… person," he added, a question in his voice; Ren simply raised an eyebrow at him and shrugged as if to say he wasn't wrong, and in response to his cheeky honesty, Sojiro shook his head with a hint of amusement. "Well whatever they are, don't bring any of that crap here. Get a room at a love hotel, whether you're alone or with company."

"Will do. Thanks. Uh…" Ren spun his index finger in the air, reeling in his next thought. "I don't have a key though."

"Wasn't planning on giving you one until I was sure you wouldn't misuse the thing, but I guess I have no choice. I don't want you taking it bar hopping, so I'll leave it in the planter outside."

"That's fair. Thanks."

"Don't get too comfortable," the cafe owner warned. "I've got a hidden camera outside."

"That's… also fair."

It took a moment for him to locate the bathhouse, tucked away in a claustrophobic little alley as it was, but soon enough he was sliding into the cramped laundromat adjacent to it, a change of clothes—the same ones he wore just this morning—and his wallet in hand.

_ Now _

A moment later, his phone began to vibrate. Ren swiped the screen to pick up the call. "Hello?

"Hello again. Amamiya-kun, was it?"

"That's right," Ren replied, unenthused. "Akechi."

"No honorifics… how presumptive of you. You must be upset that I've left you waiting for so long after my aggressive display this morning. I apologize for that."

"Mm."

"The situation regretfully required a certain degree of tact that did not leave room for your personal comfort. Though it may be hard to believe, my intentions are not malicious."

"Oh really."

"You don't believe me," the caller realized aloud. "Of course you wouldn't. Even I can see how dubiously I've performed thus far. Nevertheless… I haven't much time, but I would like to schedule a rendezvous with you."

"Tonight?"

_"Tonight? _" Akechi repeated with the slightest incredulous edge. "I wouldn't be free until around midnight..."

"Midnight, huh." Ren hummed, impressed. "Late shift. Especially since you've been there since this morning. They must work the pigs like mules where you are."

"I'd encourage you to watch your language. There's very little incentive for me not to report you as it is. But yes, I tend to overwork myself. It's a habit of mine, though tonight it's a social event that occupies me. Perhaps tomorrow would be better?"

"Nooo, no no no. Oh no. Tonight."

A short, soft whine played in his ear. "You really mean to keep me awake until dawn?"

Phrasing? There's no way that wasn't on purpose. Ren picked at his nails unsympathetically. "I will if I have to. In this case, I have to."

"I see… I suppose I did ask for it. But if you choose the time, it's only fair that I choose the location, is it not?"

"Not quite an even trade, but I think some wiggle room is necessary in a negotiation."

"Oh, I know that well," Akechi assured him. "Do you have a pen?"

He did not. "Uh. Yeah. Go ahead," he encouraged him, leaning his elbows against one of the washing machines and listening intently.

"Excellent. The address is..."

Ren furrowed his brows and shook his head at himself, chanting the address over and over under his breath to memorize it.

"So sometime after midnight then?" Akechi fished.

"Let's meet around 1."

"That's agreeable," he assented. "Besides that, how was your day? I understand Sojiro made arrangements for your employment."

"...Yeah."

"Wonderful. How did that go?"

"Well, it was work."

"It's a shame you can't say more about it. Everyone should be able to find satisfying work in this world... and you strike me as someone capable of much more than that which a bus boy demands."

"...Thanks."

There was a stretch of expectant silence. Then, Akechi spoke again. "Oh, yes, my day went smoothly, thank you for asking."

Deadpan, Ren belatedly delivered his line. "How was your day."

Akechi giggled delightedly, tickled by Ren's reluctance. "I'll be seeing you soon. Enjoy your evening."

Ren pulled his phone away from his ear to look at the screen. Once, twice, three times and the call screen blinked away and disappeared. A sigh escaped him. He had some time to kill. Suddenly, as he glanced around at the deserted room around him and the washing machines that populated it, an idea occurred to him. Crouching down where hopefully no one could see, he changed out of the clothes he was wearing and into the set he brought, wrapping the gun in the discarded bundle and shoving them into a random machine. There.

"Christ," he muttered to himself as he entered the bathhouse. "Finally."

* * *

The appointed time came, and the rendezvous point boasted no luxury. It had at one time been a single-floor daycare, as evinced by the in-tact classrooms and dusty child-sized chairs, but since had become so overgrown with vines that it was hardly recognizable from the outside. Windows lined one entire wall of the room where Ren waited patiently, seated on the very corner of the teacher's desk. The full moon stained him a heavenly white, bringing with it a certain poise that his hunch would not normally afford him. A car rolled into the parking lot beyond the bushes that overwhelmed the view outside, the glint of its metal body cutting through the sparse shield of branches.

Steadily, footsteps approached. A flashlight strobed Ren's face, and then, from out of the darkness, Akechi approached him, the light of his camera phone guiding his way. He startled a little, surprised to see him. "Hello?"

"Hey," Ren greeted him cooly.

Gradually, he lowered his hackles. "Good evening," he said in reply. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting for long..." Akechi eyed him suspiciously, tucking away his cell phone. "Though I am early." 

"I've been here for two hours, actually. Making sure you came alone."

"Then you must be pleased to know that I have. Would you like to see if I'm wearing a wire?" After a hard look, Ren nodded. "Very well. Here." Loosening his tie, Akechi unhooked the buttons of his dress shirt and pulled it open for him to see. Nothing cluttered his chest, the soft-skinned expanse of his pectorals glowing white under the insistent caress of the moonlight. Some time passed before Ren's eyes wandered back upward, but they eventually did, and upon their return, Akechi saw fit to put himself back into order. "Now," he regathered. "May I see it?"

Ren held out his hand. "What about your phone?" 

Akechi perked as one does when recalling a forgotten detail. "Ah, yes..." He withdrew the requested item from his coat and dutifully passed it Ren's way. Once in his hands, Ren subjected it to harsh scrutiny, flipping it over to view either side before turning and shuffling off toward the other end of the room. Following his path with a questioning stare, Akechi waited and watched as the savvy convict unlatched the window, leaned through it, and deposited his cell phone into the shrubbery outside. 

Clicking the rickety window shut, Ren tossed a nonchalant look the owner's way. "Don't worry," he assured him. "It's safe in the bush."

"If you say so," Akechi conceded. "Are you finished?"

"Hmm... I guess I can be." A subtle quirk at the corner of his mouth betrayed his enjoyment. Relenting to the eagerness of his companion, he moved to grab for the pistol—but just as his fingers met with the dust cloth surrounding it, he halted, peering up at Akechi hintingly. "You show me yours and I show you mine?"

Against his expectations, a devilish glint passed through Akechi's eyes. "Exactly."

Ren's lips twitched as Akechi pulled open his lapel and reached inside to retrieve something. Another gun, of course. Holding it by its muzzle, he offered it to Ren, who gingerly received it through the protection of his sleeve, then held out his hand in silent request. Hesitantly, Ren obliged, laying the white pistol within his grasp. As Akechi accepted it, his features clouded over with perplexity, casting his expression in shadow. The way he cradled it was careful, gentle, as if handling a holy relic; so absorbed was he in examining it that he seemed to forget the presence of his company completely. Intrigued by his reaction, Ren turned his attention to what lay within his own grasp. 

At first glance, the glock might not make an impression on its beholder. It was a little glossier than you might expect, but its simple black casing was by no means an eye-catching piece. If you took the time to look closer, though, you would notice the subtle embellishments; the floss-thin red trim—carmine red. He turned it over. On its grip, in a simple-but-sleek font, was the letter "R." 

For a moment, his vision went white. When he came to, he realized that all of the air in his lungs had left unannounced. "Whoa." The monosyllabic utterance slipped from his mouth unbidden, breaking Akechi from his trance. He observed Ren's aspect with interest. "You've never seen it before, then?" he asked.

Ren shook his head. "You?"

"Never." 

"Hm," he grunted, running his thumb across the lacquered muzzle contemplatively.

"But do you like it?"

Akechi furrowed his brow. "Do I—...?"

Ren flaunted his pistol suggestively. "This is just my style."

Catching his drift, the detective hummed in agreement. "Yes... I was thinking something similar about yours. And just how did this come into your possession?"

"I thought you might be able to answer that for me. Guess not." Ren rapped his knuckles against the gleaming finish. "How'd you get this one?"

"Well," Akechi said on a sigh, attention wandering off through the windows as he recounted his tale. "I woke up yesterday feeling perfectly normal. I went about my daily routine; bathed, changed my clothes... But it was the strangest thing. As I walked out the door and reached for my keys, I found that little anomaly stowed away in my jacket." He jerked his chin in the direction of the black glock. "I racked my brain trying to think of what sort of recent or upcoming event in my life might have brought this to me, and in the end, all I could think of was you. Sojiro told me some things about you before you came. About you... and your history. And then you came, looking like you had something to hide." A sympathetic smile formed on his lips. It was the second time Ren had seen it, and he didn't like it any better than the first. "It's a terrible coincidence, isn't it? This sort of thing is exactly what got you into trouble in the first place."

Ren's expression darkened. His secrets were never his own to tell. "Mm..."

"Sojiro also mentioned that you claimed innocence. That the item they discovered on your person wasn't actually yours. Is that true?"

"Yeah, that's what I told them."

"No, I meant: Is the claim a truthful one?"

Something stirred in the finer details of Ren's demeanor, drawing it into something sharper, more alert. "You would take my word for it?"

The lawman unfurled the fingers of his unoccupied hand. "I would take it into consideration, at least."

"...It's true. Someone wanted me put away. No..." He bounced his arm, feeling out the weight of the gun. "More than that. He wanted to make sure that no one would ever listen to me again."

"And what an effective way of doing it," Akechi remarked grimly. "Gun laws are stringent in this country—as they should be. Possession alone would lock you away for quite a while. It's fortunate you were still a minor at the time." For a moment, his gaze wandered away somberly. "So you were framed... Tragic." And just as quickly as it had gone, it returned, no less lucid than before. "Tell me, who was it who wanted so badly to see you fall?"

"Can't remember," Ren admitted. "It was one night, a long time ago—he was only on the scene for about ten minutes, maybe." His grip tightened around the pistol. "Someone powerful."

Akechi pressed his lips together before he spoke again, an aborted grimace. "And now he's gone, power and all." 

That was an interesting assertion—one that earned him a cocked brow from his interviewee. "I don't know, cockroaches like him tend to have a way with self-preservation," Ren pointed out. For the first time, he felt comfortable enough to take a step toward his interrogator of his own volition. "But it sounds like you know how I feel." 

Akechi startled at the observation, his round eyes widening then dulling. "Yes, you're right. I was projecting somewhat," he admitted. "I handle many cases involving the abuse of power... but I have personal experience with it as well. Experience that has affected me deeply." Could it be? Malcontent? For Ren, there was nothing more magnetic. "Either way, whoever you're looking for is somewhere you can't reach."

Feeling emboldened, Ren offered him a closed-mouthed smile. "We'll see about that." The significance of such a gift was not lost on Akechi, who inclined his head to better absorb the sight. Ever-reciprocating, Ren rewarded him twofold with a pearly flash of teeth. "So? You have your clue. Tell me what you think, sleuther."

"...I think..." He paced himself as he thought, chewing carefully on every loose end thus introduced. "I think that I should think for a little bit longer before I answer any questions in that vein," he concluded. "This obviously has some sort of significance, but whatever significance there is has not yet been revealed to me. I'm sorry if that disappoints you." He bowed his head. "There is one thing that I know, though: I'm drawn to you, and there must be a reason for that."

The bark of laughter escaped Ren before he could stifle it. "Ha!" He bent with the force of it, shaking his head at the ground. "Oh, that's the last thing I need to hear from a cop's mouth."

"I'm not saying it as a 'cop,'" Akechi corrected with a hint of distaste for the term, "I'm saying it as one man to another." A skeptical snort came in response, and to it, Akechi raised his chin challengingly. "You doubt me? But it's true." He took his own step forward, the distance between them swiftly approaching nil. "It's something I can't quite explain, myself... I sense a woken sharpness from you. Sobriety. I see it in your eyes, even through the glasses you try to hide them behind." Gazes met, and at Akechi's unspoken suggestion, the two of them engaged in civil contest. "I see it with even greater clarity now." The speaker blinked languidly, like a cat. "I'm sure you know what I mean."

Mirth broke from Ren's throat in a low, arrhythmic stream of chuckles, a slow-flow trickle of ironic laughter. "Oh, yeah. I know exactly what you mean."

Akechi twitched. "Are you being sarcastic? I don't see any reason to laugh." He made a wide, swooping gesture. "Look at everything I've done tonight. Look at every way that I've accomodated you. Does that not prove my sincerity?" His smile took on a noticeable tightness. "I could always be less accommodating if you'd prefer."

The threat rolled off Ren's back like a greased sled down a grassy knoll, completely ineffectual. "No, no, see... I'm not laughing at you. I'm laughing at myself." He rubbed at his eyes to compose himself. "How can I put this? The type of person I am..." He allowed himself a small period to articulate his thoughts. Then, he offered his explanation, patiently forming each word as crisply and clearly as possible: "Trouble courts me on a regular basis—and it when it does, the attraction is never one-sided."

As if to prove his words, the chamber of the gun in his hands stirred ominously. Then there were two clicks, simultaneous, one from his and one from Akechi's. 

It was a sound much too familiar to him.

It was a sound much too familiar to them both.

Blood pressures skyrocketed. Mutual fear flashed through their joined eyes with the titanic power of a thunderbolt. Breath broke from their lungs like doves bursting from a cage, hard enough to set their diaphragms aflame, and muscle memory seized the reigns where rational judgment lay inert, jerking their arms like line on a fishing pole in the haste to take aim.

Ren might've had some mechanical experience with firearms, but he'd never had the drilled sleight of an assassin. 

The bullet bit him like a viper and zipped between his ribs with comparable dexterity. When it ate through the corded walls of his heart, he felt it like a needle pecking a water balloon. His idle fingers, acknowledging their defeat, discarded the gun and danced up to his chest to search for a way to save their master. Being too slow to catch first draw, though, they were no less late in stemming that first belch of blood that his still-beating heart spat from its wound. But what painted Akechi's beige suit jacket was nothing like the gore you might expect--not red, but as flamingo pink as a cocktail drink, and the heart-shaped smatterings that spattered his parted lips tasted just as flirtatiously sweet. Where it touched his skin he heated but never cooled, and rather than coagulate, the substance seemed to jellify and slither down his chin with the viscosity of fresh honey. 

"What…" Akechi began but never elaborated upon. Bewilderment knotted his expression and Ren's alike, but any attempt to hypothesize was lost in the haze when the billowing smoke from the barrel brought with it the torporific scent of patchouli. Ren's tongue contorted with the same sickly slick undulations of someone choking on their own fluids, but he didn't look much like someone in their final moments. Rather, something about the way he stood there with his hands over his heart and his chin tipped back was puzzlingly close to the face of someone on the verge of finding the words for feelings they could barely contain. 

Then he fell forward. Akechi didn't think to try to catch him. He sidestepped him, as was his habit of doing when a hit got sloppy. Gracelessly, Ren hit the ground as dead weight.

* * *

* * *

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you might expect, he's not actually dead.
> 
> But wow! This is the longest thing I've ever written at 15 full pages! Hopefully there are no terrible, awful, glaring errors in this, but producing this made me cross-eyed, so I wouldn't really know for sure. The next chapter's already partially written! I hope you'll look forward to it!


	4. Chapter 4

Akechi was alone with his own ragged breath. He was shaken—too shaken, shaken the way he'd been the first time something like this happened. It had been so long—too long for him to be used to this. Moonlight cast a too-bright spotlight on his fatal mistake, highlighting his victim's prone form in stark white luminosity as if to say: "Shame. Shame." And shame he felt; at his actions, at their preventability, at regret itself. Not so long ago, this scenario wouldn't have provoked the slightest tremor in him. Now... Well, now, he rationalized, was different. All others were casualties in service of a goal; it was only this particular instance that was without purpose. This rationalization preserved him, bolstered him, equipped him with the strength to proceed. All at once, he drew himself together and dug his heels firmly into the present. It was time to do his job, and no matter the task, he's always striven for an unmatchable aptitude and exactitude in his work.

He withdrew his cell phone and activated its flashlight feature, shining it across his front. So his eyes didn't deceive him—it really _ was _ pink. Curiously, he licked his lips. Yes, it really _ did _ taste sweet. With this, the possibility struck him: Somehow, the bastard might've faked it. Blanks? They can still kill, but maybe he didn't know that. Or maybe he _ did _ know that? Costume blood packets and an armored vest, perhaps? Absurd, but possible. 

He checked the pistol's chamber. No more bullets. Alright, then. He gripped the gun by its muzzle instead, arming himself with its butt as a bludgeon as he wandered cautiously to his opponent's side. He didn't appear to be breathing, but for all he knew, he might be holding it. Tentatively, he touched his shoulder—

...Too early to use body temperature as an indicator. It was only when he tried to move him that he was certain he was at the very least unconscious, because a conscious man always carried a portion of his weight involuntarily, and in order to accomplish the task of turning him over he had to apply a considerable degree of exertion. Setting aside his weapon, he utilized both hands to roll him onto his back, until at last the fallen man's face was turned toward him. Seeing it now, Akechi could see that his jaw was slack. He pulled back his sleeve and pressed his bare wrist to his parted lips, but no air stirred against it. With every second that passed, it became less likely that he was holding his breath. At last, the detective was certain; he was gone.

He clicked his tongue. "A shame," was his conservative lamentation. "I was hoping you'd be something more." A hand rectified the unruly bangs of his vanquished, drawing them away from his peaceful brow. "What am I going to do with you now?" Feeling a compulsion for propriety, he arranged the dead man's arms at his sides and tugged his wrinkled sleeves into place. "I suppose I have no choice but to dispose of you." But even as he spoke so confidently, a bemused wrinkle developed in his expression. To himself, he observed aloud, "But what a strange way for you to go..." 

Wandering downward, Akechi's hands passed lambently and ponderously over the expanse of Ren's ribcage, investigating the syrup-soaked fabric of his shirt. He could feel now that there was no vest below his simple sweater. The realization was sad, somehow, knowing he wasn't half as cunning and malicious as he thought him to be, but again, he stanched this paltry sentimental wound and pressed on with his autopsy. 

It was at the moment that he noticed it: Beyond the hole in his shirt, there was no sign of entry. No wound. He lifted the bullet-torn garment up to Ren's neck. 

No wound, no vest, nothing but a Pollockesque smear of nectarous fluid.

"You're fucking—" The air that supplied the aborted expletive left his lungs almost too quickly for his tongue to make speech of. His spine went rigid as he hastily rearranged himself to administer CPR. "One," he breathed to himself, pumping his hands in a short, strong burst against the unresponsive man's rib cage. "Two," he said again, stomach flipping when he felt the jump of a heartbeat under his hands. "Th—" 

Terror grated his throat with a strangled shout when suddenly, inexplicably, without warning, he sunk up to his forearms inside of Ren's chest. Or phased through it, really, because where his arms dangled seemed to be supernaturally capacious, a cold, bottomless void that he felt a hair away from falling into completely. The mouth at his ear sputtered with sudden life, and the next thing he knew, reanimated hands were clawing at him, urging him closer. 

An intense spike of fear consumed all of his senses. Instinctively, he sunk his teeth into the closest bit of Ren's flesh he could reach, spurring him for release, but to no avail; the attempt only succeeded in tightening the grapple. Goro felt the phantom chill of death's sigh on his heels.

"Let go!" he demanded on a half-breath, frothingly mad, his legs scrabbling fruitlessly against the floor. "Let me go, you—_ fffucking _—bastard!"

Oddly enough, to this, the grip went slack. Akechi strained his neck as much as he could for a glimpse of Ren's face, only to find the apparent-zombie already beholding him with eyes bleary from the pain he must be in.

...Well. Pain? Probably pain. No, it had to be pain. The alternative was too ridiculous. 

Anyway—The comprehension behind them was zero to none. One foot was still quite obviously in the grave, but by some miracle he seemed to recognize Akechi in an abstract way. From that, Akechi was able to surmise that this strange and spectacular occurrence was a practical joke being played on them _ both _, rather than him exclusively, and his volcanic rage cooled into glossy obsidian. Calmly, he drew his right arm up and out of the trans-organic portal, and, after gathering his bearings, he essayed to liberate his left side from its depths—but his dominant hand only made it as far as its fingertips before Ren spluttered frantically and stole for his wrist.

"What?" he asked, baffled.

A wheeze came from the supine frame below him. 

Akechi cocked his head disbelievingly. "You can't _actually _want me to reach back in?"

"Y... s."

"So you can speak," he observed with a note of wonderment. "But doesn't it hurt?"

Blinking his half-seeing eyes as if squinting through a dust storm, Ren shrugged, and to his insouciance, the detective returned an impressed scoff. "What exactly am I meant to be doing?"

"Th-There's..." He coughed, and with it came a splatter of aspirated fluid, sugary and pink. "I-I feel... The—bullet?" With one weak, tremulous hand, he made an effort to pantomime the effect. "Rattling, rattling around."

"Hm." Using his unoccupied hand, Akechi combed his hair back into order, erasing any evidence that he'd ever been ruffled by recent events. "I didn't feel anything."

"Can you..." Up until now, every pause had been taken to sputter for breath, but this time Ren took one deliberately, pointedly even, and accompanied it with another unsteady gesture that expressed his exasperation. "Check again?"

Akechi narrowed his eyes. Experimentally, he dipped his forefinger into the semi-solid pool over his heart and stirred it as he would a coffee spoon, foxfire dancing in his eyes when in response, Ren's expression tightened with a small grunt. "It really does seem like it hurts," he commented.  
"And what's more, you hardly know me. Are you sure you consent to this?"

With one eye squinched shut, Ren looked him over in deep consideration. After an interval, he hiccuped decisively. "Mm," he said. "I could do a lot w—... worse."

And at his word, Akechi loomed over his prone frame, bracing his right hand on his shoulder and diving elbow-deep into the roseate portal, punching a shout of surprise out of Ren's lungs. The scrambled to anchor himself with Akechi's upper arms, terrified of this new jet-streamed feeling that threatened to sweep him away into unknown waters. 

This time, the subspace was a little warmer to the touch, a little more welcoming, like walking through the threshold of a happy home. There was still no indication of the object described, however, and Akechi indicated as much with a dissatisfied frown. "I'm not finding whatever you mentioned," he informed him. "This might be some trouble. How are you holding together?"

The only response he received was a thin whine. In the concentrated effort to prevent himself from disintegrating like a house of cards, Ren trembled, his body an autumn leaf pestered by the gale. It was curled into a sort of half-crunch, a centralized roll that would remind you of a turtle on its back. His abdominal muscles all twisted fitfully around each other, summoning every ounce of their might to carry his weight at both ends. 

Akechi bit back any schadenfreude the sight might've inspired. "Sorry, that was a stupid question. Shall I give you a moment to adjust?"

"F-Fuck no," his companion hissed. "Just go for it."

"Alright, if you say so."

With that, he locked his arm around the prone man's shoulder, grappling onto him and feeling his partner's grip tighten sympathetically. As Akechi seated himself all the way down to his shoulder, the two of them locked together like a mated pair.

"Oh, Christ—" Ren's head fell back against the ground with a dull thud, eyes going screwy before they snapped shut completely. "_ You have no idea how this feels. _"

"I do not," the probing party soothed by way of admission, sparing him little attention over the task at hand. "I appreciate your cooperation though, and I admire the extent of your endurance. I hope that you can forgive me after this is all over and done."

"Forgive you—?" Ren sputtered, raising his head. His brow creased, deep and fretful, and then again it dropped back to the ground. "God," he groaned. "I don't know. Maybe. Ask me again later."

Akechi nodded, grateful and slight. "As long as I have that chance." 

Then, like a junebug colliding with the windshield of a speeding car, it plinked against his grasping fingers, hard enough to sting. He gasped, just barely stopping himself from withdrawing his hand out of instinct. Gritting his teeth, he groped for the offending object, confidently at first, then more frantically as once, twice, three times, he clenched his fist around open air. Then—_ Snatch. _ He had it.

"Ah!" he shouted victoriously. Inch-by-inch, he withdrew his closed fist. Ren made a small sound in his throat. His hands rose to cup the detective by his bicep, then laxly allowed them to slither down his arm as it made its way out of his chest. The more he pulled away, the more the portal shrunk, until at last, with Akechi's clenched hand safely on the other side of it, it dwindled and disappeared completely. 

During this, Ren's hands had traversed their way down Akechi's forearm, past his wrist, and met with his hand, just as it made its exit. His skin glistened with sweat. His body trembled with exertion. Almost fearfully, he pressed his thumbs into the other man's fist and guided his fingers apart. As if a mussel yawning to reveal its pearl, they opened to reveal a silver shell lying within; too beautiful to be practical, etched with intricate patterns and shined so thoroughly that it seemed phosphorescent in the sparse moonlight. He breathed a sigh of relief, stretching out on the ground like a maroon that swam his way to shore.

With his companion satisfied, Akechi drew the object away for closer examination. Yes—this was no bullet. Too large, too lightweight, too flamboyant, too clean. This was only a bullet casing. He held it close to his ear and shook it. _ Rattle, rattle. _ There was something inside.

His thumb wandered over the silver shell, cogitating on the dips and bumps on its surface, until at last he met with a seam. Leveraging his gloved thumbnail beneath the lip, he flipped it off and—_ pop, clang. _ The bottom end of the case went tumbling through the air like a tossed penny, revealing the hollow inside. Akechi tapped the shell against his open palm, coaxing out a small and unassuming scrap of notebook paper.

_ Coniunctio oppositorum. _That's all that was written on it. Handwritten, by the looks of it, in simple black ink. To any other eye it would seem unremarkable, but to his own, the script was instantly recognizable. It was—

A voice from below penetrated his thoughts. "Wh's that?"

Akechi realigned his shoulders, assuming a posture that was better self-assured. "It's a note," he informed him. "It was in the casing I pulled out of you."

"Wh's it..." Ren smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, readjusting himself to its weight. "What's it say?"

"It's a dialectical term," Akechi explained. Then, tilting his head curiously, he tried, "Coniunctio oppositorum?"

"Uhh..." Ren made an exerted grimace. Akechi could see the poor half-dead brain in his head struggle to reinitialize its cogs. "Latin word roots, Latin word roots... 'Con' means together. Con..." He snorted up a line of rosy slime, choking and moaning miserably when it stung his nasal cavity like a stiff shot of vodka. "Fuck... 'Together opposites'?"

Akechi rewarded him with a smile. "Very good. It means 'Unity of opposites.' It describes a relationship where the existence of one necessitates the existence of the other. Land, sky. Abstract, concrete. Freedom, necessity." Proudly, he added, "It's a _ core concept _ in _ Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel's _ writings."

For a pregnant pause, Ren's eyes traveled up and down Akechi's aspect, deciphering him, his very own Pythagora before a wall of convoluted formulas. Then, hands resting folded over each other on his stomach, he raised his chin to him, signaling the intentional withholding of opinion. "Hm."

The effect was not lost on Akechi. His penetrative eye gleamed, seduced by subtext. "It certainly gives food for thought, doesn't it?" he commented, happy to preserve the back-and-forth game of pussyfooting tactics. He set a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, finding a steady pulse thrumming in the flesh beneath it; he was alive, for certain. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm… not terrible," Ren responded, croaky and quiet. "I feel weird. Tired."

"I imagine you would," Akechi agreed, looking down his nose at him. "What happened just now was almost certainly supernatural." A pause. "You were dead."

"I know."

"You _ know? _" The detective blinked, incredulous. "As in, you remember that you were dying just before it happened?"

Ren coughed. "No," he said. "After that. I-I—" And then he coughed some more, hard and ugly and incessant, a waterlogged sound. 

Akechi watched him carry on in silence right until the moment it became rude not to acknowledge his struggle. He lowered himself to his knees beside the bedraggled ex-convict and delicately placed his hand on his clavicle. "Come, let's prop you up," he suggested in hushed tones. "You may not be in any kind of excruciating pain, but this whole ordeal couldn't have been easy on your body." Ren raised himself up a centimeter or two, and the hand at his clavicle snaked around to support his back. "I realize that what just happened was incredibly bizarre. I expect both of us have many questions. Regardless, I think the most prudent thing to do now would be to get you home. But, ah—" Akechi glanced out the windows. "I didn't notice any cars when I drove in. Did you come here on foot?"

Ren wiped his mouth off with his elbow, breathing unsteadily. "Part of the way, yeah," he gurgled. "Took the train for the other part."  
  
"Oh, do you not drive?"

"I, uh." A reddish tint colored the recalcitrant's complexion, visible even while blanched by the light of the moon. It was a little embarrassing to admit. "Got my license taken away."

The detective's lips quirked. "Is that so?" he intoned. "I'd _ love _ to hear that story."

At first, Ren registered his words as disingenuine and scoffed at them, but when he saw the expectant way that Akechi leaned toward him, he realized they were true. He pressed his lips shut, narrowed his eyes. 

Akechi frowned slightly. "No?" The frown drooped even further, becoming a fetching pout. "Oh well. Next time, perhaps." Brushing off his knees, he stood. "In any case…" He proffered his hand to Ren in lieu of an olive branch. "I would be your escort, should you like. That is, should you not feel awkward riding beside someone who… without mincing words, just recently killed you."

"Woof… yeah…" he hemmed and hawed, sucking air through his teeth. "Didn't think about that." For a moment, he deliberated—but oh, come on. Who does he think he is? Someone with better judgment? "Whatever," he concluded, laying his hand in Akechi's grasp. "I'm alive."

"I admire your ability to roll with the punches," Akechi complimented him, warm and amused. Gingerly, he helped pull him to his feet. "Let's be off, then."

Ren nodded, a pronounced hump in his back, then turned toward the door.

"Ah, actually?" Akechi interposed, holding out an open palm. "I nearly forgot. My phone?"

Ren halted, looked to his hand, then to the bushes outside the window. With a long-suffering suspiration, he crossed the room to retrieve it.

* * *

Their ride was predictably quiet. The moon was high in the sky as they drove back toward Leblanc, and where its light didn't touch, the streets were tenebrous and silent. Further into Tokyo, in the commercial districts, the nightlife was thriving, but here, on the outskirts, the buildings were grim and colorless in their dormancy. Ren watched them as they passed, each one looking so very alike. The sound of the tires whispering against the pavement had nearly put him to sleep by the time Akechi finally spoke. 

"I'm... reluctant to press you for answers in your current condition," he began, tentatively, "but you know… I do find myself curious." He reached up, adjusted his rearview mirror, stole a glance at his passenger in its reflection. "What was it like?"

Ren straightened in his seat, gathering a long breath into his lungs, partly to assemble his thoughts and partly to revitalize them. "I hit the ground," he said, "I saw nothing. Then I heard a song, and I felt… you."  
  
Akechi raised a brow. "You felt me?"  
  
The passenger nodded. "Your hands on my chest."

"Yes... That must have been me trying to resuscitate you," the detective guessed, piecing together the evidence in his head.

"Ah. Uh-huh."  
  
Scritch, scritch, whisper, whisper. The ambient roar of a moving vehicle, padding the empty moments where they found their footing within the conversation.

"So…" Ren twisted up his lips. "Pretty fast draw you've got there, gumshoe," he pointed out. "You must have a lot of experience with..." and his hesitance said it all, "...that sort of thing."

The corners of Akechi's smile twitched like a prodded nerve, only once. "Of course. My line of work calls for routine practice."

"Oh, right," Ren echoed. His tone was very suggestive of his ongoing thoughts on that. "Your 'line of work.'"

Eager to change the subject, Akechi spun the conversation back to its initial topic. "Is there anything else you remember?" he asked.

For a moment, Ren did not respond, but instead, worried the broken edge of one of his fingernails ponderously. More than anything they'd spoken of before, it was this, in particular, that he seemed reluctant to expatiate on. "...Letting you in." 

Akechi nodded thoughtfully. "Ah. So it was a conscious decision?"

"Mm. It was a conscious decision," Ren repeated. "Or, you know, as conscious as it can be when you're trapped in a death dream."

"And what influenced you to do that?" Akechi pried. The car dipped into a pothole, jostling them both a little. "To let me into your heart?" Then, realizing the implication of his words, the driver tittered. "Quite literally, that is."

Ren shook his head. "Nothing." 

Akechi recoiled, taken aback. "Nothing?" he paused, huffed a laugh. "Nothing at all?"

"Yeah. I mean, no powerful force or anything. It just... seemed right."

"Well, why?"

"I don't know," Ren murmured—but his voice suggested that it might not be that he didn't know, but rather he knew and couldn't understand why. "I guess it's wrong to say it 'seemed' right. It, um." He cleared his throat a little. "It, uh, uh. _ Felt... _ right."  
  
Akechi pursed his lips curiously. "Is there a difference?"  
  
"I think so."  
  
Akechi breathed a laugh, cranking the wheel to turn into a side street. "An interesting answer. I quite like it." He slowed the vehicle down to a crawl, navigating his way toward Leblanc. "Strangely enough, I find myself understanding you completely," he admitted, brows knitted sympathetically. "You should know it wasn't deductive reasoning alone that sparked my interest in you." He clucked his tongue. "If I had to wager a guess, I might say it was fate..." 

Leblanc came into view, and the car lurched forward on its brakes. With a heavy _ thunk _ , Akechi shifted gear into park, turning to his passenger with a rueful smile. "But it's too bad. I suppose you probably won't want to see me again after this."  
  
He expected an answer in the affirmative. He was returned with silence.

Akechi blinked, genuinely surprised. He turned his eyes from the road to scrutinize his passenger, who sat with his head down and hands lying limply in his lap. "Do you?" he repeated, softly. "You can say no, and I mean that truthfully."

Ren scratched his bottom lip, scraping away the strawberry-scented crust there.

The detective's lips parted, searching for something to say. "I do mean it," is what he decided on. "Tonight's events have been… baffling. There are many things I'd like to investigate, and I would prefer to do it with your help, but I have no interest in forcing you into a lurid one-sided partnership. If what has happened has destroyed any chance at a cooperative effort between us, it's best that we part ways here, regardless of any supernatural machinations in store."

The fingernail carving at his bottom lip halted. For a moment, every inch of Ren was perfectly still, as if gorgonized. Then, he moved all at once, meeting Akechi's eyes without an iota of fear. "Do you remember what I told you?" he asked. The detective softened under his gaze, eyelashes drooping slightly. His head fell to the side as if to say:_ Remember what? _

"The words were only out of my mouth two seconds before you… Ah, you know." The ex-con lifted a hand. Two fingers played the barrel, a thumb played the hammer, and his mouth took care of the foley. "Pchoo."

Akechi's brows jumped up with a hum, a hint of playful mockery in his pitch. "Oh, yes. Trouble never courts you one-sidedly, does it?"

Ren nodded. "Mm."

"Then speaking as your hypothetical _ 'trouble' _, I'll trust you to make your own decisions." Bending sideways over his passenger's lap, Akechi reached for the door handle to let him out—but the moment his fingers made contact, he paused, his clever russet eyes darting to their corners to regard him. "But let it be known," he warned in a smooth voice. "I expect fidelity to any vows you make."

Moonlight caught Ren's glasses, obscured his eyes with glaring lenses. "A little early for vows, isn't it?" he droned. "It's only the first date."

Akechi's demeanor brightened into something decidedly sunny. "Ah, so you mean to say there's a second date in store?" Obligingly, he popped open the car door, retreating back into the driver's seat as Ren undid his seatbelt. "How should I consult you about the arrangements? By text or by call?"

Ren did not immediately respond. He climbed out of the car and set his hand on the rim of the door, gripping it tightly. "...Call me," was what he said after some deliberation.  
  
Akechi smiled. "You can expect I will," he promised. It was in earnest. 

Just when Ren expected the conversation to have ended, just when he had closed the door and began to walk away, the detective chimed in again, apparently loath to set him free. "It's a shame about those pants, by the way," he mused, raising his voice so he would hear. Ren swiveled around to face him, soaked in pink, inquisitive. He gesticulated toward his jeans and the price tag that still hung from them, unnoticed until now. "Weren't they new?"

Oh yeah. The jeans.

Goddamn it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! It's been a little while. I hope this chapter is okay. I'm a little nervous to post it. Thank you to my friend Nik for listening to my Akeshu thoughts and reading over this for me!


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